You're owned by the club. And they want you to know. That your coach will decide how far you will go. You'll look up and down fields. Look, but take care. If you see a forward leading, "don't choose to go there".

With your head full of brains, you'll turn left and handball, You're too smart to go elsewhere, because of the wall.

And you may not find any way to that goal. In that case, of course, kick backwards and stroll.

It's open back there in the defensive goal square. Back there things can happen, but usually not, to well-drilled players back in the slot.

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And then things start to happen, but don't worry. Kick long! There'll be a break from the middle and soon it's game on.

OH! THE SPACES YOU'LL FIND!

You'll be on your way up! To the forward line running; The fans will soon see, that your coach is quite cunning.

You won't lag behind, because that wouldn't do. You'll carry and handball, and after you'll spew.

Wherever you fly, well, you won't, it's not done. Yes fans like the flying, and the marking is fun.

But not when you're playing in AFL land. Because winning is is ugly, and everything's planned.

And I'm sorry to say so, but, sadly, it's true; that piss-ups and stuff-ups MUST NOT happen to you!

If you get tackled, and the fans all cry ball. Or you're caught with a joint, or involved in a brawl.

Then the media will come hot under their collars, You will be contrite, and we'll fine you some dollars.

You'll come down from your high, with an AFL thump. And at 20 years old, you'll hit your first Slump.

And when you're plump in your slump, and you're having no fun;

Beware of the chopsticks, the pun and the Hun.

You will come to a place where the streets are all shuttered. Some windows you'll wee on, when your mind is uncluttered.

But you're not helping yourself, you're now on the brink. A 40-game player, out on the drink.

Can you play? Where should you play? Why?

And IF you go on, should you turn left or right? Or backwards or forwards? Or, maybe, you'll fight?

Or just kick it long and risk a behind? Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find, for a natural footballer to make up his mind.

You can get so confused, that you'll form an alliance, down the long dank road, they call sports science.

You'll be jabbed and needled, beware the disgrace, headed, I fear, towards a most useless place.

ASADA's Waiting Place!

... For athletes just waiting.

Waiting for an end to woe or a saviour to come, or a coach to go.

Or the season to end, or samples to grow. Or Gill to ring, or the lawyer to show?

Or the waiting around for a Yes or No. Or waiting for the club to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for Eddie's bite, or waiting for the Virgin flight. Or waiting around for Sunday night.

Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jim. Or a contract extension, or any win.

Or a stadium loudspeaker finally turned down. Or a booing mob, or a racist clown.